


The Blonde in the Leather Jacket

by RowWithAChipNPin



Series: Torchwood in Broadchurch [1]
Category: Broadchurch, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: After Doomsday but before Journey's End, After end of Broadchurch season 1, Aliens, Bad Wolf Rose Tyler, Conspiracy, Crazy, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, DI Hardy is not the Doctor/Handy, DI Hardy is slightly crazy, Developing Relationship, Disappearing acts, F/M, Gen, Going insane, Male-Female Friendship, Meddling, Murder, No pairings - Freeform, Perception filters, Pete's World, Pete's World Torchwood, Possible Romance, Rose Tyler is slightly crazy, Sanity is questionable, Series Spoilers, Sonicing, Spoilers, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vanishing act
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowWithAChipNPin/pseuds/RowWithAChipNPin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they meet, they're on the same case and she vanishes into thin air. The second time, she's committing burglary and theft in front of him. When he realizes no one else can see her, Hardy is left wondering that he's gone insane. Is the blonde woman only in his mind, or is something bigger and stranger happening in Broadchurch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crime Scene Confrontations

**Author's Note:**

> No real spoilers for Broadchurch, but you should probably see up to ep 8 anyway. Takes place during Rose's first stay in Pete's World, while she's working with Torchwood. Also, Rose is slightly crazy in this fic;not insane-crazy, more like Nine/early Ten-crazy. That's mostly because slightly crazy-Rose is more fun to write than normal-Rose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time they meet, they're investigating the same serial murder case and she disappears without a trace.
> 
> Well, it isn't really a string of serial murders, not the kind they're used to—more like a stranded alien's sloppy leftovers—but he doesn't know that.

The first time they meet, they're investigating the same serial murder case and she disappears without a trace.

Well, it isn't really a string of serial murders, not the kind they're used to—more like a stranded alien's sloppy leftovers—but he doesn't know that.

DI Alec Hardy does know that Violet Kayne—age nineteen, redhead, lives…lived with her boyfriend—is the fifth body found in a month span. It's the first found in Broadchurch, and has the potential to thoroughly ruin his day, if not the foreseeable future.

Which it will, if the knot in his stomach is anything to go by.

"Alright," says Miller as she walks beside him towards the body, "there have been four other bodies—Daisy Marks, Heather White, Anne Smith, and Dahlia Rhode. So far, the inquiry has produced no commonalities aside from gender. All young females ranging in age from sixteen to twenty-six, no apparent connections to each other or shared associates. Different occupations, different lifestyles, no similarities in physical appearance or personality."

Hardy snorts, distinctly unimpressed with the investigative work done so far.

"So, basically, we've got nothing. 'S that what you're sayin'?"

He is irritated for many reasons, top among them a murder victim falling on his plate first thing in the morning. Also, he didn't get the chance to have his tea, and that really made him irked.

So, if he takes that out on the poor officer who got on the scene first and had to deal with the cranky detective inspector, he can't really be blamed. If someone has a problem with it, they can take it up with 'im later.

The body looks like a wild animal had gone at it, except the cuts are too precise—surgical, almost—and strategic; they go straight through important arteries and muscles, an attack planned to cripple the victim. There is very little blood around the body, though it's soaked into the shredded remnants of the poor girl's clothes.

Forensics is all over the scene, and already taped it off against civilians; he takes a quick look at the body and sticks around just long enough to find out there are no witnesses and the body was called in via anonymous tip from a payphone. He lets forensics take care of it, and thinks of how this day doesn't have to be a total loss.

It's on the way off the crime scene that they cross paths. Or, rather, she appears out of nowhere and he nearly walks straight into her. She doesn't really just materialize out of thin air, he knows that, but damn, if she isn't fast and quiet. She's so focused on the tablet in her hands that she doesn't notice him until he grabs her shoulder to steady himself, but that's enough to earn himself a loud sound of protest. Her eyes widen when she sees him and a mix of hope, fear, and confusion crawls across her face before she can school it into impassiveness.

She's petite and lush like a flower, with sleek blonde hair and intelligent, dark brown eyes—dyed hair, he notices; her roots are showing, and her eyebrows are dark. She's pretty—some might say beautiful—and her round, full cheeks and smooth skin betray her youth; she's in her early to mid-twenties, with that sharp, determined look Hardy has come to associate with journalists, bloggers, and conspiracy nutters. That would explain the long leather jacket, more suited to a U-boat captain than a young lady, whose other clothes are blatantly designer and probably cost quite a bit.

So. A rich, probably entitled, conspiracy nutter.

Bloody hell.

"Clear off, lass. If you're lookin' for a quote, you're not gonna find one here."

Whatever Hardy might have seen in her face is replaced with irritation and…yes, that is disappointment. Then, it's gone again and she' giving him an affronted look, as if he just rudely poked her with a stick.

Or, maybe, walked onto her crime scene instead of the other way round.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong girl, I'm the investigator on the case. I 'ave every right to be here, Mister…"

He scowls; he was right, an out of towner—Londoner, going by the accent. He tries not to think about how that was him not too long ago, and when had he started to think of himself as a townie, anyway? She says she's an investigator, but that makes no sense.

"Detective Inspector, actually," he corrects her, and purposely leaves out his name. Last thing he needs is to get himself mentioned in this nutter's article. "An investigator, you say? I'm in charge of this case and I wasn't made aware of any outside…help."

She has to force herself to focus on him, he can tell; her eyes keep wandering—to the body, to her tablet, anywhere but him. Hardy feels a spark of hate for this young woman, who carries around her an air of superiority and entitlement like a coat. She flashes a badge, too quickly for him to really get a good look. Her jacket sleeve slips up her arm, revealing a large, gaudy something on her wrist. It looked almost like a GPS on a leather strap, something he'd never seen before.

"No, you wouldn't've been. I'm part of a special taskforce, classified. I'll be taking over the investigation, Detective Inspector." She says it with the same matter-of-fact tone some use to talk about the weather or where to eat for lunch. "I've already got the files, you can go back to whatever 'tis you do. Don't worry about this too much, nothing for you t' worry about."

He puffs up, eyes flashing, and snarls, "I will not! This is my case and if you'd like to change that, you can take it up with the Superintendent and go through the channels."

She looks like she wants to argue, but apparently thinks better of it and nods.

"Alright, Inspector. Have it your way. The case is all yours. Have fun." She smiles, as if to a private joke he wasn't privy to, and fiddles with the device on her arm.

"Sir!"

He turns his head towards Miller, just for a moment, and tells her he'll be right there. When he turns back, the woman is gone and the smell of fish and chips is strong in the air. He looks around, the questions he never asks on his lips, but she's nowhere to be seen, almost like she vanished into thin air. Hardy asks a young reporter if he saw which way she went, and the reporter looks at him like he's grown a second head.

"What woman, sir?"

"The blonde woman, she was standing right there a moment ago."

"Sir…there was no one there, I swear it."

Miller tells him the same thing when he asks her, and after that, he decides to drop the topic. Needn't give the Chief Superintendent reason to suspend him, not when he'd just gotten reinstated after his surgery; last thing he needed was people thinking he was hallucinating.

And, somewhere between his silent resolution and speaking with the boyfriend, he forgets about the blonde in the leather jacket.

No other bodies show up. He decides, for the sake of his heart, not to stress over it and just thank whatever force kept a long, complicated serial murder investigation off his desk.

That would have been a lot of paperwork.


	2. Little Bit of B&E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time they meet, he's in the hospital getting a check up on his pacemaker and she's committing burglary and theft.
> 
> Not the best foundation for a relationship.

The second time they meet, he's in the hospital getting a check up on his pacemaker and she's committing burglary and theft.

Not the best foundation for a relationship.

Until he sees her slip into a room, he'd almost convinced himself that she had just been a dream he got mixed up with a memory. After all, blonde girls don't just disappear, and they especially don't stroll around a crime scene without anyone seeing them.

Apparently, no such luck, because when he stepped out of the examination room to make a quick trip to the loo, there she was, leather jacket and all, looking around suspiciously before slipping past a door clearly marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. His aching bladder is quickly forgotten when he's presented with the chance to take her in for questioning; he'll finally get his answers. How she'd gotten away, who she is, what she was doing at the crime scene, what she's doing robbing a hospital. All of it, answered, and Miller will stop looking at him like he's gone off the deep end.

She's leaning over one of the computers, facing him so he can't see what's on the screen or what she was doing. A blue glow makes her pale as a ghost, and the station she's at is making a strange buzzing noise. Her head snaps up when he closes the door behind him, eyes widening; he lets his hand wander towards his belt, where his gun is, and she follows the motion. Good—she knows who's in charge. The blue glow and buzzing cuts off abruptly, and she shuts down whatever she was doing before he gets the chance to see.

He doesn't waste time like he did before.

"Who are you?" Hardy asks—no, demands, because he's beyond asking. The weeks of thinking he'd imagined her press in on him, and he needs to know.

She straightens, eyeing him carefully.

"I could ask you the same question," she says, and it doesn't escape Hardy the way she slips something into her jacket pocket; he _is_ a DI, after all, and a rather competent one at that.

"What's that?"

She gives him an impish smile that _does not_ bode well for his blood pressure—"A screwdriver."—and even though she's grinning like it's an inside joke, there's something in her eyes that Hardy recognizes as grief.

"You expect me to believe that?" Because she can't really expect him to believe that a _screwdriver_ lights up like a torch and buzzes obnoxiously, can she?

She shakes her head and shrugs. "Believe what you want, Inspector."

She gives him a once-over, and clicks her tongue in appreciation. "You know, if you shaved and got a haircut, you'd really be something. _Well,_ " she says, "you're already something, Inspector, but I mean a gorgeous something instead of a something that pokes 'is nose where it doesn't belong."

He puffs up indignantly. "Excuse me?!" he barks. "I'm not the one hacking hospital computers and creepin' round a crime scene."

"Yeah, alright, I'll give you that one, Inspector," she says, "and something else, too, because I like you so much. I'm Rose."

He considers for a moment—Rose, he decides, suits her, because hadn't he compared her to a flower last time they met—before replying, "DI Hardy."

He isn't sure it's a good idea to tell her his name, especially since she apparently didn't know who he was until now, but he figures, in a town like Broadchurch, it would have only been a matter of time, anyway.

Rose laughs and smiles, pink tongue poking out between her teeth. "Nice to meet ya, DI Hardy."

Then there's that buzzing noise again, for a split second, and all the alarms on the hospital floor go off simultaneously. He jerks, instinctively turning towards the door and whipping back again when he realizes his mistake. And…yep, she's gone, in the split second it takes him to turn around.

_Shit._

Hardy doesn't know why he bothers—he has the sneaking feeling that he's the only one who saw her, _again—_ but he checks the security tapes anyway. Interesting, the guard on duty calls it, because no one's had access but her; Hardy doesn't know why he's surprised.

He never does find out what she was accessing on the computer.

"Who do you think could have done this?" the guard asks, and normally, Hardy would have been livid at the incompetency. In this case, he knows it isn't her fault.

"I've got a pretty good idea of who," he says, blonde hair, a cheeky grin, and a Cockney accent flashing through his mind.

"The _real_ question is— _what_ could have done this?"


	3. Not Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few times they run into each other, she's in places she isn't supposed to be and he's starting to seriously wonder if she has a physical inability to stay behind crime scene tape.

The next few times they run into each other, she's in places she isn't supposed to be and he's starting to seriously wonder if she has a physical inability to stay behind crime scene tape.

Not to mention how none of his men ever seem to see her, and now they all think he's crazy _and_ a hardarse.

He isn't crazy. Nope, not crazy. Detective Inspector Alec Hardy is a lot of things—grumpy, private, angry, socially awkward—but he definitely isn't crazy.

It takes a bit of digging, and somewhere along the way, he loses several hours of sleep that he'll never get back, but it's worth it for what he finds. He starts with what he knows—female, dyed blonde, mid-twenties, born and raised in London, about 5'5 with a slim build, first name Rose—and goes from there, pouring over newspapers, magazine, and online articles, running an image from the sketch artist through the system.

And…he gets nothing. It's like she doesn't exist. No records, no pictures; not even a driver's license or school photo. There are partial matches, of course, but nothing that matches his girl.

When had he start thinking of her as "his girl?"

Rose doesn't show up on CCTV anywhere near crime scenes or the hospital, but skip over a few streets or blocks, and there she is—the blonde in the leather jacket. Proof he isn't imagining her; he even asks a janitor who's working late to confirm they can see her.

He can't remember the last time he was so relieved.

Until he proudly shows Miller the next morning and she gives him this _look,_ like she's really starting to worry about him, and he knows what she's going to say next.

"Sir, there's no one there. Maybe you should take some time off."

As it turns out, there was no janitor working that night.

Damn, he hopes he isn't crazy.


	4. Conversations in a Rainy Parking Lot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For all his hard work and sleepless nights, he never gets the chance to track her down, because she finds him first.

For all his hard work and sleepless nights, he never gets the chance to track her down, because she finds him first.

Waits for him, actually. It's been a long, hard day at the office, in which he was handed one of the hardest kind of cases—a child, little girl, not even nine years old, found beaten and raped beside the road—and had no leads, and he's looking forward to just going home and getting sloshed. It's been raining hard all day, and any other day, he'd get a small sense of satisfaction from knowing the weather reflected his frame of mind.

Instead, he finds Rose sitting on the curb next to his car, humming what he vaguely recognizes as one of the "popular" songs that are played over and over on the radio. She looks up as he approaches, alerted to his presence to the great groan he lets out when he sees her. He wonders how long she's been sitting there, because her hair is plastered to her face and water is dripping down her jacket.

"I am really not in the mood," he says, hoping she'll just go away.

She's good at that, at least.

"Hard day at work?" she asks, and he can almost believe that she doesn't already know about the girl, except she has a dark look in her eyes that he knows very well; it's the same one he sees in the mirror.

He snorts, groping around in his pocket for his car keys; she lets him look, slowly at first and then more frantically, for more than a minute before she takes pity on him.

"'Fraid you're not leaving yet, Inspector. I've got some things to say, things I think you want to know, and really, I'd like to get out of the rain. I think I've ruined my shirt, and that's _your_ fault, Inspector. Also, you didn't take my advice and get a haircut, did you? Pity, 'cause you'd look a lot better with one."

He doesn't understand how she can shift from one line of thought to another so smoothly and quickly, and he doesn't have a clue how her mind works, which irks him. He only knows that a madwoman—yes, he decided weeks ago during his manic search for proof that if he was crazy, so was she—is stopping this harried detective inspector from leaving, and looks entirely too pleased with herself. Finally, he settles on a heavy sigh, because all he wants to do is get drunk off his arse and now this woman—this _Rose—_ has placed herself smack in the way and seems to be enjoying herself immensely.

He's getting too old for this.

"Are you going to let me leave?" he sighs, and it seems like he's been doing a lot of that today—sighing.

She starts to nod, pauses as if something new just occurred to her, and then shakes her head violently, sending chunks of wet hair whipping around her face. They stick when she stops, and she has to drag a hand across her face to dislodge them; he's struck by how much she resembles a drowned rat, and manages to derive some measure of pleasure from that thought.

"Nope, sorry," she says, and doesn't look the least bit apologetic to him. "Wish things were different, better circumstances, cause I used to think about how I was going to do this; you deserve to know what's goin' on in your own town, 'cept I don't know if you can handle it, you know?"

And no, he doesn't know, because he doesn't think they're on the same page anymore, if they ever were.

"'Sides, I've had a hell of a day and I know you have, too, and I thought, well, since we've both had shit days and we both want to get sloshed, you might as well buy me a drink."

Correction: they aren't on the same page because she's in a completely different book, and probably been there the entire time, waiting impatiently for him to catch up.

"And after you buy me a drink, I'm gonna tell you everythin' you've been tryin' to figure out since we met. Because like it or not, this case—this girl—involves somethin' you're vastly unprepared for, and you're gonna need my help."

There are a million different questions and a million things he wants to say, but when he musters up the ability to speak, all that comes out is, "Alright."

She brightens and jumps to her feet, and after everything, he isn't surprised when she retrieves his keys from her pocket and tosses them at him.

"Glad that's sorted. You can drive."


	5. Defender of the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He does indeed buy her a drink, though straight up vodka was not what he imagined her drinking.

He does indeed buy her a drink, though straight up vodka was not what he imagined her drinking.

But, lo and behold, she tosses it back like it's water and places the glass firmly on the table, grinning. He stares, and suddenly remembers how very bad this would look to someone who didn't know the context; on that line of thought, it would look worse if he appeared to be talking to empty air.

As if she read his mind—which he wouldn't put beyond her, come to think of it—her grin softens into a pleasant smile, and she says, "Yes, Inspector, I'm really here and you're not crazy. Anyone looks over, it'll look like us two having a nice chat over drinks and some fish and chips."

 _Fish and—?_ Oh. Yes. It does seem that, somehow, she'd managed to acquire a meal without him noticing her ordering or the food arriving. His stomach chooses that moment to growl rather loudly; he'd forgotten how hungry he is, and now he remembers that he missed lunch.

She gives him a cheeky grin. "Hungry, Inspector? If you agree to listen to me, I'll share."

He's not sure what possessed him to do so, but he nods, and she pushes the dish closer, and while he munches on a chip, she talks.

She starts with the line, "My name is Rose Tyler, I was at Canary Wharf, and that was the day I died." and it all goes from there.

She spins him a story of a young, London-born-and-bred shop girl who left school at sixteen to follow a boy, which left her with a broken heart and no A-Levels, living with her mum in the same flat she'd spent her whole life, dating her best friend and knowing they really didn't have a future together but unable to break his heart.

She tells him about the wonderful, manic, haunted alien-who-looks-human-but-really-we-look-Time-Lord who saved her from the living plastic Autons and swept her off in his wonderful timeship—TARDIS, that's _Time and Relative Dimensions In Space,_ thank you very much. She tells him about leather jackets and the end of the world, dancing and a Captain Jack Harkness from the 51st century who saved her life in the London Blitz and managed to make a place for himself in their strange world, and aliens in 10 Downing Street and a rift in Cardiff.

There's a man who can change his face, and she loves him and keeps losing him, and she hopes that someday, somehow she'll find her way back to him. In the meantime, she's a hero, defending the Earth from aliens and preternatural threats as an operative of Torchwood.

"You look like him, you know, so much that it makes my heart hurt, but don't make that face, I know you're not him, he has better taste in clothes and knows how to tell a joke."

It's a story of space and time, war and peace, dying suns and aliens and the words Bad Wolf following her everywhere she goes. It's a story of love and action and families—blood and otherwise, a white wall between dimensions, and an aptly named beach in Norway.

She tells him the story of Rose Tyler, Defender of the Earth, and how a shop girl became a hero.

He doesn't know how long they sat there, but by the time she's done, the last of the daylight has vanished from the sky and all the chips are gone.

"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" she asks when she's finished, pointedly avoiding his eyes by finding her wine extremely interesting.

He isn't sure what to say, exactly, because it _does_ sound crazy, but then, he decides, a lot of things seemed crazy lately. Aliens are as good an explanation as any.

"I think something is all this is crazy," he says, finally. "I just hope it isn't me."


	6. The Mystery Blonde is Real, Miller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't the last time they see each other, and now that he's certain that she isn't a figment of his imagination, they quickly establish a sort of relationship.
> 
> A professional working relationship, of course, consisting mostly of Rose helping him on certain cases and Hardy taking her out to lunch.

It isn't the last time they see each other, and now that he's certain that she isn't a figment of his imagination, they quickly establish a sort of relationship.

A _professional working_ relationship, of course, consisting mostly of Rose helping him on certain cases and Hardy taking her out to lunch.

He learns that she came to Broadchurch following the trail of an alien—a Weevil, she called it—that had developed a taste for snacking on women; her team neutralized the threat, which explained why the so-called serial killer had disappeared.

Turns out, Broadchurch is built around a small rift in time and space—"Not as big as Cardiff, thank God! _That_ would be a nightmare."—which attracts Earthbound aliens and the like. The rift was dormant for a long time, but Rose's arrival from the other dimension—multiple dimensions, he's still getting used to the idea—seems to have activated it.

"That's why we're here," she tells him one day over tea, because she doesn't drink coffee either. "Torchwood is establishing a Broadchurch office to protect the town, deal with the flotsam and jetsam that will be coming through, and limit how much people know. If they knew the big picture, that there are aliens and the like walkin' round Broadchurch—this place would be blown off the map before you could say, nuke it from orbit."

He also discovers that the reason no one else ever noticed her was something called a perception filter. The way she explained it, it was a sort of telepathic field around a person or object that kept people from noticing it. She'd been using it to examine Broadchurch and the rift without interference, to get a feel for what she'd be dealing with; she'd spoken to some of the long-time alien residents, and they, of course, wanted to stay anonymous. Couldn't do that with a stranger waltzing around town. Only certain people could see through a perception filter, and it was just her luck that he happened to be one of 'em.

She does apologize for making him look crazy with a bottle of scotch, so that sort of makes up for it.

It also doesn't hurt when, one lunch hour he's ready to work straight through, she struts right through the front doors of Broadchurch PD headquarters, flashes the badge he still hasn't seen, and plops herself on his desk when he's in the middle of a conversation with Miller.

"So, I was thinking the Traders' for lunch, 'cause it's pretty close by and I really love their chips," she starts babbling, as if she hasn't just conveniently sat on top of his case file. "Or, we could go to that little French bistro—you're choice, Alec, since I picked last time. And you must be DS Miller, right? Alec's talked 'bout you before, nice to meetcha."

It still surprises Hardy—she can call him 'Alec' all she likes, mostly because he hasn't figured out how to stop her, but he still thinks of himself as Hardy—how Rose can streamline from one thought to another and make it seem totally natural. She says it's because she lived with this man—the Doctor, the first Doctor, with the big ears and Northern accent—who could talk a mile a minute without breathing, and the only way she could get a word in edgewise was if she did the same.

It surprises Miller, too, because for several long seconds, she just stands there gaping instead of saying something. Hardy can certainly relate; he remembers that feeling, from when he first met Rose. He doesn't think that Rose has slowed down, but rather, he's sped up, and she still leaves him in the dust half the time. Lucky for Hardy, she knows what it feels like and is more than willing to slow down and explain.

Finally, Miller manages to say, "You're her, Hardy's mystery blonde. You're real?" She turns to Hardy. "She's real?"

Rose laughs, and if she was anyone else, it would sound condescending, but the thing about Rose is that she manages to be constantly in charge of the situation and keep everyone else at ease—at the same time.

"Yeah, all real here, last time I checked." She pauses, and Hardy wants to groan, because he's come to know and dread that look. That look means Rose is about to do or say something that's going to make Hardy question her sanity.

" _Well,_ I think I'm real. How do you know if you're real? Maybe I'm not. Maybe we're not. Maybe nothing we've ever known is real. Or, maybe everything is. I call 'em like I see 'em, m'am, because if I think too hard about if I'm real or not, maybe I'll start to doubt it."

She offers Miller her hand, which the other woman takes, after a moment's hesitation.

"Please, no m'am. Call me Ellie."

"Rose—Rose Tyler. So, Ellie, join us for lunch? Alec's paying."

As Rose and Ellie—no, dammit, _Miller_ walk towards that French café, arm in arm, chatting happily about whatever it is women talk about, Hardy is nostalgic for the days when he didn't have to worry about his partner and his…whatever Rose is bonding and conspiring against him.

Simpler days, yeah?

But a little voice in his head—a voice that sounds suspiciously like himself speaking in a British accent—whispered, _you wouldn't have it any other way._


	7. Gone But Not Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere along the way, he begins to enjoy her company, and isn't that a scary thought?
> 
> It's when he starts to think maybe he likes her more than professionally that he realizes he's lost her.

Somewhere along the way, he begins to enjoy her company, and isn't that a scary thought?

Occasionally having lunch turns into a weekly…thing. He's not quite sure what the "thing" is exactly, because it's _Rose,_ and she's an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a battered leather jacket. But, it's a thing where they sit together and share a plate of chips—she steals most of the ketchup, but lets him have the first chip—and they talk.

He talks about his cases—not active ones, because that would be serious violations of protocol that he won't make, even for her. He tells her about his ex-wife and the reason they got divorced, and his daughter. For whatever reason, he tells Rose Tyler things he's never told anyone else, and he has no idea why.

She talks about aliens and her travels, and Torchwood (on both sides, "Torchwood on this side is much better, less 'if it's alien, it's ours.'"). She tells him about the Doctor and Captain Jack ("He swears he's a real captain, because he moved up through the ranks." "I'm sure the ranks were very grateful."), and their life running about the stars. She even tells him about her life _before_ all that.

Rose is one hell of a woman, even if she is a little crazy. Hardy has never met anyone like her before, and sometimes he gets flashbacks to the days when he was younger and would have jumped at the chance for a life like hers. Rose is all excitement and adventures and running; even when she's sitting still, she radiates energy.

There's no arguing that Rose does whatever she wants, whether that means flirting with Reverend Coates (Hardy feels a little sick when he remembers how Coates flirted back) or crashing on the couch in the police break room in the middle of the day. She disappears for days on end with no word, and then pops back into his life as if nothing happened.

No matter what Miller says, it's completely platonic, and don't think he doesn't know about the office pool on how long it'll be before they shag. He knows, he just doesn't care. Nope, definitely not. After all, she's more than ten years his junior and he's pretty sure she's dating that Welsh researcher—something Jones, and _no,_ Hardy isn't jealous.

If he holds the door open, it's only because he's a gentleman and she likes it when he's a little old fashioned.

If she clings to his arm when they walk, it's only because she craves contact—needs it to prove to herself that she's not dead.

If their touches linger just a moment too long, and if her hugs are just a little too tight, it's only because they're friends and she's a very touchy person.

And if they sit a little too close, it's because she doesn't want just anyone to hear her stories and he's quite fond of the professional reputation he has left; the reputation gets a major boost once she starts waltzing in and out of the police station whenever she pleases. It's rather hard for his coworkers to call him delusional when his delusion is chatting up the copy boy and swiping cookies.

He's become rather accustomed to this thing he has with Rose and enjoys her company; she's a colleague, like a second partner, even though _her_ partner is some bloke with bleached, spiked hair and a weird protective streak.

So, he just meets her at the same table in the Traveler's restaurant at the same time every Friday, and they have fish and chips, and talk about their days. They grab an ice cream and take a walk, and she smiles with her tongue between her teeth and he actually laughs.

They have a good time, and he's glad that she decided let him in, and if he misses her more than just a friend when he's at work, he brushes it off. He's very good at that.

Until the day she doesn't show up.

He waits for almost an hour at their table before he resigns himself to the knowledge that she isn't coming. He sends her a text and waits another half hour with no response before calling.

He gets her voicemail immediately, and that's when he starts to panic.

He does everything he can think of, everything they taught him about missing persons. He puts up posters with her picture and his phone number, he asks everyone he can think of, and he searches everywhere he thought she could have been. And then he realizes how little he really knows about Rose Tyler, if that's really her name.

He doesn't know where she lives or where Torchwood is located; he doesn't know if she has a car or some sort of transportation, or if she walks everywhere. He doesn't even know her partner's name, and when he asks around, no one else does either. He knows everything that made Rose Tyler who she is, but he doesn't know anything about her. He never took any notice of that before.

Now, it's driving him insane.

Almost two weeks later, and her partner—the guy with the spiked hair—shows up at the police station. Jake—that's his name, Jake Simmonds—is somber and stone-faced, and gives him a letter from Rose. Then he tells Hardy, "She's gone, mate." And Jake doesn't elaborate, because he's Torchwood, after all, and Hardy is used to Torchwood being some huge secret. He delivers the message, gives Hardy a long look that's a cross between pity and anger, and leaves.

Hardy never sees him again. Some days he's angry that that's all Jake gave him. Other days, he's glad, because Jake is another reminder of _her._

It's several days before he gathers up the courage to read her letter, and when he does, he can't stop.

When he gets to the end, he wipes away the tear that he'll deny to the end of time, fold up her letter carefully, and put it in the top drawer of his desk.

And then, he does just what she asked of him. He remembers her.

He remembers Rose Tyler.


	8. Please Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose's letter to Detective Inspector Alec Hardy

_Alec:_

_I'm so sorry that I had to write this letter instead of telling you face to face. I was scared that if I faced you in person, I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I told you all about parallel universes and the dangers of the rift, right?_

_Something is coming, Alec, from the deepest, farthest reaches of the universe: the darkness, that's what I call it. The darkness is coming, Alec, and it will destroy everything. The only person in the universe who can stop it is the Doctor, my Doctor, sealed away in my old reality where I can never return. That's what he said._

_That's where I'm going._

_Torchwood has developed what I call the Dimensional Cannon. Using it, I will be able to break through the barriers between parallel worlds, which are becoming thinner every day. This is the greatest enemy the Doctor has ever faced, and he's going to need all the help he can get. I love him; I have to help him, or at least try._

_I will find the Doctor and we will stop the darkness. I promise you._

_Yeah, it's going to be dangerous, and I'm going to stand and look into the face of death, and I'm going to laugh. Because that's what he taught me to do, and so did you. You wanna know what else I know?_

_You don't just give up. You don't just let things happen. You make a stand. You say "no!" You have the guts to do what's right even when everyone else just runs away. I'm gonna do just that, and I'm probably gonna die. Don't worry about me, because I'm doing it for all of you. Everyone on Earth, especially the people of that little, boring, wonderful town called Broadchurch._

_You are an amazing man, someone I am proud to call my friend. Be good to Ellie, because after all she's been through, she's going to need a good friend to help her. Have that cuppa with her, even if you only drink tea; take her out to lunch. Get that dog you've been talking about. Solve crimes, save lives, and never forget_ why _you became a copper. It's when you forget that you start to doubt yourself, and please, never do that. Take care of yourself, don't give up on your daughter, and always fight the good fight._

_One last thing, because I have one last favor to ask you. Have a good life on me, yeah? Do that for me, Detective Inspector Alec Hardy. Have a fantastic life._

_It's been an honor and a privilege._

_My name is Rose Tyler. Please remember me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks. Hope you enjoyed, I had a lot of fun writing this. Originally posted on ff.net.
> 
> I'm currently writing a sequel, "Saving Rose Tyler," so keep an eye out! I'm warming up to be even more diabolical than this one.


End file.
